


Sins of the Father

by WhovianWarrior



Category: Original Work
Genre: Afghanistan, Gen, Other, Soldiers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9901805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhovianWarrior/pseuds/WhovianWarrior
Summary: A war ravaged soldier stumbles upon an unexpected convoy and discovers the war in Afghanistan is about to change dramatically. How much is he prepared to lose in pursuit of the truth?





	1. The Last Day

 

 

“Sir, what can you see?”

Captain Walker graduated with honours from West Point Academy. From the outset he recorded above average fitness results, excelled in the field, and was outstanding in both man-portable weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. His career was punctuated with numerous examples of superior decision making under pressure, including a skirmish that earned him both the Silver Star and Purple Heart. He was on his fourth tour in Afghanistan, but it was his first as Company Commander: posted to Dog Company, it was a clear indicator that his career was being fast-tracked. For all of his courage under fire, his leadership and his tactical prowess, Walker was a decent man. He genuinely cared for his troops, spending time with each of them –often missing a meal or a couple hours of sleep in order to do so. They were three quarters of the way through their tour, had completed hundreds of patrols, and every soldier in the Company would run off the end of the earth if he told them to.

He lowered the binoculars and paused for a moment. “The end, Butch. I think this is it.” Butch lowered his head. He didn’t want to die. Not here in this Godforsaken sandpit. He had always trusted his Boss, but this time it seems like they had got themselves in too deep. The patrol had not gone to plan from the minute they left the compound. There were dozens of skirmishes that broke out in villages in the Green Zone, which had not been forewarned in any of the recent intelligence reports. Butch had never seen so many insurgents this far into their Area of Operations. To make matters worse, they had lost a few men in those early battles. Good men, too. A couple of Non-Commissioned Officers and the company signaller were helicoptered out with fatal wounds, he would be surprised if any of them even made it to triage.

Despite the heavy fighting, Headquarters insisted the company to push on with the mission, they at least managed to get a resupply but Butch remained reserved about how long it would last. Assholes. But the further out they got, the less contact they had with Battalion HQ. At each of the designated checkpoints, they sent through their Situation Reports and sought the Battalion Commander’s guidance. “Just Keep up the good work, men” was the most comprehensive response he had to offer. Soon, there was just a faint squawk, a trace of the transmission. Then they just stopped all together. That was six days ago.

Butch had already served two tours of Afghanistan. He was part of the first push into Afghanistan in 2010, and the Taliban had a firm grip within Kandahar Province. On the back of the Iraq campaign, the boys were a little stretched. The Brigade had been heavily restructured, with Reservists regularly rounding out the Battalions, and it showed. Operation Dragon Strike was a hard fought early victory. During the fighting, he picked up a Bronze Star for rescuing three of his soldiers in the middle of a firefight. Truth be told, Butch didn’t see it as heroic, he just didn’t want to get any FNGs (Fucking New Guys) that he’d have to train up. Whilst US forces were able to drive insurgent forces from the Arghandab district (dubbed “the Heart of Darkness” by most of the men) and secure a large portion of the Kandahar Province, they racked up 34 KIA. Any casualty is too many, but this was on a much larger scale than he had anticipated. It made the first couple of months pretty tough going, but soon they dominated the terrain and with the insurgents leadership heavily fractured the rest of Butch’s tour was spent cleaning up the mess they had left behind.

The second tour was much worse. Relationships between the United States and the fledgling Afghani Government were strained on the back of various high profile atrocities, that Butch would refer to as “stupid ass shit!” In Butch’s mind, the soldiers of the 502nd started to suffer from “SSDD” (Same Shit Different Day), and the men didn’t seem to transition well to mentoring and training the semi-corrupt armed forces. The reality of their plight was that the Afghan National Army had limited fighting capacity. Even at their best, they lacked discipline, training and sometimes the basic equipment to do their job. Butch heard about one of the new units in Baghlan, who were found cowering in ditches rather than fighting the Taliban! The rumours of soldiers collaborating with insurgents ran rife through the ranks, and Butch felt they were just swapping one bad guy for another. The hardest part was the ‘Green on Blue’ (rogue Afghan soldiers opening fire on allied troops); it damaged morale, bred distrust and sent boys home in coffins they didn’t deserve. Even with an oak leaf cluster for his Bronze Star, he finished up the tour feeling demoralised and resigned to the fact that a US withdrawal would only signal a return of insurgents. He was grateful for the transfer to 87th Infantry Battalion, and even more pleased to receive a promotion to Sergeant Major.

Now, sitting behind a bolder in the middle of Tora Bora, Butch began to think of his pregnant wife, and two kids: about the visit from one of the brass, the crying and wailing that would follow. He could feel himself inside the metal coffin, and smell the crisp linen of the flag draped above him. Suddenly he was awash with sadness, he would never see his son play another game of football. He wouldn’t walk his daughter down the aisle. Most of all, he would never feel the tender embrace of his wife again. These thoughts and feelings didn’t come as a surprise to Butch; he knew what he was getting himself into since his first tour. Third time around, and after countless ramp ceremonies, he thought he’d have a grip on it. But this time it was real, it was happening to him.

“Butch! Are you with me?” cried the Captain.

Snapped back to reality, Butch saw a small grin grow across the Captain’s face: “We’re gonna get out of here Butch!” he said as he dropped to a knee grabbing for his map and notebook.

“Boss, what are you talking about? We have been stuck out here for three weeks! No one is looking for us. We haven’t been able to contact anyone on every freq’ we have… how are we possibly getting out of here?” He didn’t want to be the pessimist, but the reality was they had pushed to far into insurgent territory, and without Allied air support, they were no competition for the rising tide of the Taliban.

Captain Walker grabbed Butch by the arm and dragged him out from behind the boulder they were crouched at. Pointing to a dust trail in the distance, “That’s how! That truck is how were getting out of here, Butch. All of us.” At first, Butch couldn’t believe his eyes. The dust trail was about fifty clicks away, but it was unmistakeable, even within the binoculars. Only problem was: it wasn’t one of theirs.

“Oh shit!” exclaimed Butch. It was a real Hail Mary. The likelihood of the truck being laden with insurgents or explosives was as close as you could get to 100%. Getting their hands on that truck wasn’t going to be easy, and while Walker was on the ball during a firefight, there was too much riding on this fight. Butch paused and thought carefully before he opened his mouth… wisdom and fifteen years service had taught him to be sure about questioning his commander’s plans. “Boss… We are going to need a pretty stealthy plan for this one. I don’t think brute force will get us all across the line."

Walker knew he was right. Going in all guns blazing, with the last few magazines of ammunition they had left could not only jeopardise his men, but also that truck. They didn’t have much time, and darkness was still hours away. Walker lifted off his helmet and placed it alongside his weapon. He carefully opened up his map and grabbed a couple of rocks to weigh down the corners. He studied the map carefully, before starting to scratch out some orders in his notebook; occasionally tearing out whole pages, screwing them up and stuffing them in his pocket. He glanced out again at the approaching vehicle; it was probably travelling around fifty miles an hour, the distance between them had already halved. Finally he looked up from his notebook and said, “Butch, I think I have a plan, but I don’t know if you and the boys are going to like it..."


	2. The Last Breath

Butch was now convinced that the Captain’s plan was bat-shit crazy. Walker stood in the middle of the road, his hands in the air and his weapon on the ground at his feet. Butch and the others lay in wait, in a small ditch about a hundred metres from his Boss. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Once the truck stops, you’ll be able to get an indication of how many insurgents are on board. Three or four, and we’ll have the upper hand, any more and our plan gets too risky. I trust you, James. If you don’t think you can take them out then let me be. Just get my men home.” Shit was serious if the Boss was resorting to Christian names. But Walker sold it like it was going to be a cake walk: Bad guys get out of truck, shoot bad guys and get truck – or – lots of bad guys get out of truck, take Boss prisoner and drive off in truck. “Fan-fucking-tastic” thought Butch, “What could possibly go wrong?” but it was not like Butch, or anyone else, had any better ideas, this was the first sign of life they’d seen in days, and who knows when another truck would just barrel-on down the road?

Maybe, just maybe, they’d get lucky. God knows they were past due. The ill-fated patrol was starting to take a toll on the men of Dog Company; thank God their pennant had a long tradition for being ‘hard as fuck’. The boys lapped that kind of shit up, but Butch was worried that it was starting to grow old. As the truck pulled up about thirty metres from Captain Walker, Butch felt time stand still. The breeze stopped, and the crackling sound of the truck tyres on the dirt road ceased. Nobody moved: Walker stoodfast, his hands still raised in the air, and the rest of the Company lay waiting, scopes poised over the truck. Butch had always been an Atheist, but right now he was praying to every God known to man. It felt like an eternity before anything happened. Without warning the passenger door of the truck opened up a tall Caucasian man jumped out, black boots, cargo pants, black shirt and cap. He had an MP4 strapped to his side.

“What the fuck?” Butch whispered.

The man walked slowly towards Captain Walker, and two more men jumped out of the back of the truck – dressed the same, also with MP4s. Butch watched intently, shifting his gaze between Walker and the rear of the truck. “Shit, man. I hope that’s all of them” he muttered to himself. He turned to his right and sent hand signals down the line to cover the rear of the truck. Then he turned to his left and pointed at his eyes before tapping his shoulder, telling the left flank to keep their eyes on the Boss.

“You American?” the passenger asked with a thick Texan accent.

“First Battalion. 87th. Who are you?” Walker replied.

Without responding, the passenger quickly raised his MP4 and took aim at the Captain. On cue, Butch let loose with an automatic burst – quickly followed by the rest of the soldiers. A short fire fight broke out and Captain Walker leapt forward to retrieve his weapon before all three black-clad men fell to the ground dead. Pointing his weapon at the truck cab, Walker was yelling at the driver to get out. Butch signalled for some of his men to move up and secure the rear of the truck, and with a few others ran towards Captain Walker.

The fourth man stepped out of the truck, his hands raised in the air. He knew he was vastly outnumbered. “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! ON THE GROUND!” Butch had already made it to Walker and was taking the lead on securing the prisoner.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?” Butch yelled. Jesus. Contracted security wasn’t supposed to be travelling without an escort, and they sure as shit shouldn’t be firing at Americans. There was no sign of a company logo on any of their gear, and Butch noticed they were equipped with some high grade weaponry. None of this was adding up.

“I’m just…. Just… I’m just - ”

“Just what Motherfucker?” bellowed Butch, his temper flared and effectively intimidated the young man.

“Just the driver…. I’m…. I’m just the driver man, please don’t shoot me!” he begged as his face filled with dust.

“Butch.” The Captain spoke calmly and clearly. “It’s ok. We’ve got the truck. Just tie this guy up and throw him in the back. See what you can do about these bodies, and… urgh…” Walker lurched forward a little, grabbing at his side. It was wet, and warm. The hole in his side was larger than his hand, and his fingers pushed straight into his wound.

“Boss? …Oh Fuck! MEDIC!!! MEDIC!!! Where’s the goddamn medic??” Butch cried out. As Walker fell to the ground, he knew there was precious little the medic could do. Butch knelt down and held his hand. He stared at the blood of blood swelling out from Walker’s side, and he watched silently as the life drained from the young officer’s face. He was a damn fine soldier and would have made an excellent Battalion Commander, but that future was fading away quickly. “You did great Boss. The men are real proud of you. We’re all going home because of you. Thank you.” He leant forward and closed Walker’s eyes. He was already gone. “Gunny! You gotta come see this!” called one of the soldiers from behind the truck.

Butch didn’t want to leave his Boss lying there, but he reluctantly climbed to his feet and headed to the rear of the truck.

“The whole trucks full of them… Crates and crates of vials.” Butch looked up into the truck, it was filled with stainless steel crates marked “GLOBATECH"

"What the fuck is this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you see any areas that could be fleshed out a bit. There is so much to this story, and it's hard to get it all down in enough detail without running away with the plot!!!


	3. The New Beginning

“Just Breathe, Honey…. You’re doing great” It was the best he could do to try and comfort his wife. Butch had missed the birth of his other two kids, so he felt way out of his depth. At first, he kind of wished he were back in Afghanistan: fighting insurgents seemed an easier task than this. 

“James. If you tell me to breathe one more time: so help me!” The pressure of the emerging child, and the unpredictable irregularity of these early contractions were setting the chemicals and hormones inside Lara’s body into overdrive. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a scream that increased in pitch and volume, and her body began to shake uncontrollably. Lara’s body was bathed in sweat; the taut skin of her stomach was glistening in the afternoon glow of the sunlight pouring into the delivery room. The labour was taking all of her energy, and she feared she would not be strong enough to make it through the final stages of labour. Butch’ s hand was the only thing solid she had to hold onto as each contraction sent a ferocious pain that shook everything in and out of focus. Even though she was angry, and in pain, he gripped her hand tightly and said “Lara, I love you.” 

Butch had been home now for a month. After that last patrol, everyone in the Company was debriefed: Intelligence Officers, Psychologists, hell, even a Senator came over to tell them what a fantastic job they did. But no one mentioned Globatech. Every time Butch tried to bring up the subject, he was shut down straight away: “It was a stressful environment. You boys had been stuck out there for weeks, and after losing Captain Walker… Stress can do strange things to your mind.” Condescending assholes. Butch tried to put the whole thing behind him, but he suffered terribly from visceral nightmares of Captain Walker’s death. He would regularly wake up in a pool of sweat, and started sleeping on a towel to keep it in check. Recently, the nightmares punctuated his waking hours, triggered by a sharp noise, or a familiar smell. He tried his best to distract himself with family; Lara was glowing in her final weeks of pregnancy and the kids were such a welcome abundance of laughter and enjoyment. Outside of home, he remained highly-strung and began obsessing about Globatech and their presence in Afghanistan. 

Lara let out a soft moan, and leaned back into Butch’s shoulder. He tilted his head slightly and kissed her on the forehead, “I’m right here beside you, baby” he lied, parts of him were still stuck in Tora Bora, holding his Captain’s lifeless body. He reached out and gently stroked her stomach, which did little for the pain but helped her to remain grounded in the here and now. As the hours wore on, Lara felt the urge to push become an unbearable experience, but she knew she didn’t have the strength to bear down anymore. 

“Mr Rose, may I speak with you for a moment?” The doctor discretely asked as he began ushering Butch out of the room. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’m still here…” he said as her arm reached out for him to remain at her side. 

“Mr Rose,” the doctor spoke seriously in a hushed voice, “I am concerned that your wife’ s labour has stalled and that it may be causing unnecessary trauma on the baby. I think it’s time we started to think about and emergency caesarean. I will need you to sit down with the nurse momentarily and start going through the indemnity and consent forms” Butch was instantly overwhelmed: he was torn between the sense of urgency in the doctor’s voice to protect his wife and unborn child, but conversely confused at the mention of indemnities and procedural consent forms.

“Doc, let me get this straight,” Butch said rather candidly. “Are Lara and the baby are in danger? Won’t emergency surgery this late in her labour expose them both to a greater risk? Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

“Well, yes Mr Rose, the procedure is not without it’s risks. I can assure you that caesarean operations are extremely common and the mortality rates are very, very low. We could potentially wait a little bit longer, but I strongly recommend we begin preparing her for…”

Even though the doctor was still talking, Butch had stopped listening after “mortality rates”. He was gripped with fear. A fear of death. A fear of losing someone else close to him. The pair were interrupted by the midwife, “Doctor, the baby’s head has started to crown… did you want to gown up?” Her words brought Butch back to the moment and his fear gave way to a wave of excitement and anticipation. 

“Ok Lara, it is nearly time to push…” the doctor was poised, ready for the baby to come out. This was it. Butch was filled with excitement and regret at missing the first two, but by God he was making up for it now. “Now, Lara… Push!” She let out a guttural scream, and felt the baby shift inside her as she pushed. Lara continued to bear down through repeated contractions, and each time the baby inched its way closer into the world. Every centimetre was a battle for her, leaving her worn down and fatigued with the effort of her labour. Her weak body shook under the intense pain, trembling in Butch’s arms as he held her close to his chest never feeling so powerless as he did in that moment. Watching his wife suffer and struggle to bring their child into the world, Butch couldn’t suppress the tears that welled up in his eyes. 

“I can't...I just can't...” Lara, cried, her exhausted body dropping into Butch's arms. “So....tired...I'm sorry, but I...I can't...” She was limp and physically spent. 

“Yes you can, Honey!” Butch desperately reassured her and he gently brushed the hair from her forehead to back behind her ear, “You can do this. Just push a little more and we'll have our baby. Please, for the baby's sake you must push!” Butch begged.

Lara gathered all her strength and pushed, throwing her head back as a cry tore through her throat. She gripped Butch's hands as she bore down again, pushing the baby out a little more. Lara felt as if she were tearing in two, the burning sensation worsening as the baby stretched her wider. 

“You're doing great, Lara! It's almost here!” Butch was utterly amazed as the wet mound, thick with hair began to emerge from her body, sometimes slipping back in a little after each push. 

“It burns...oh god! Help me!” Lara gasped, clawing at the bed sheets. She was beginning to lose the last of her strength and she didn't have much time left for pushing, not to mention the toll the birth was taking on the baby. 

“Focus, Lara! Focus on the baby!” The midwife urged as she grabbed Lara’s other hand and guided it down to where the baby was, placing her fingers gently on the stretched opening. Lara gasped as she felt the soft, warm, wet head of her baby gently pulsing outwards. She traced circles on the top of the baby's head with her fingers, “M-my....baby,” she panted, her glazed eyes looking far-off. 

Grabbing Butch's hands she pushed again, the baby's head slipping half-way out. Butch and the medical staff encouraged her on, but she was so tired and sore, and it was getting harder for her to push with so little strength. Lara felt her will fading and fatigue was taking over and her surroundings were growing dim. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep... 

“Stay with me, Lara!” Butch cried, reviving her with some cold water splashed on her face, “You're almost done! Please, just stay awake!” The cold water on her face seemed to give her a little strength. Pushing through her fog of pain, the baby's head slipped out into the doctor's hands. “The baby's head it out, Honey!" Butch exclaimed. 

“You're almost done. Just one big push to clear the shoulders and you'll have a beautiful baby.” The doctors demeanor had soften and replaced with a soft and gentle optimism.

“Come on, Lara. This is it." Butch said softly, “You can do it. I love you, baby. I love you more than you'll ever know. For my child to have such a strong mother, I will always be honored. I love you so much” With that Lara reached deep from within and found enough strength to give one last push. A ragged scream erupted from her as the baby's shoulders slipped out. The doctor eased the rest of the baby out just as Lara collapsed with exhaustion into her husband's arms, half dead from the effort. 

“You did it baby!” Butch exclaimed, “It’s a boy!” The pair kissed and smiled and kissed again. The baby was quickly whisked away for a routine exam, and returned all wrapped up and snuggled straight into Lara’s chest. “Congratulations, Mrs Rose. What are you going to call him?” enquired the doctor as he handed her the newborn. She was starting to stir again, now realised from the burden of childbirth she began recovering quickly. 

“James.” Came her hoarse reply, “James Rose Jnr.” Butch was delighted. They hadn’t really discussed any names for the baby, but James was a perfect name. Butch couldn’t be happier. Suddenly he had everything he ever wanted in the world. 

“Do you want to hold him, Baby?” Lara asked her husband. Her arms were still weak, and she cautiously lifted the baby up towards Butch’s arms. Handing over his son, the little baby reached out from the blanket he had been wrapped in. That’s when Butch noticed it. There were black markings on his son’s arm. He pulled back the wrap and exposed the child’s arm completely. Turning to the doctor he asked: 

“Hey Doc? What the hell is this?”

The two men examined the newborn’s arm. A series of Roman numerals were perfectly imprinted on the newborn’s arm. The doctor was surprised he didn’t notice it during his brief examination; in fact, he was certain the marks weren’t there minutes earlier. Yet, as the two men stood there staring at the anomaly it seems to grow bolder before their eyes.

XXII VI MMXXXVII

“It looks almost like a tattoo… but… that’s not possible.” Exclaimed the doctor. “Baby? What is it? What’s wrong?” Lara’s voice was panicked. She sat up suddenly from the bed, and winced from the after pains of labour. Her mind instantly catastrophised every conceivable piece of bad news that was about to be delivered, in a single electrifying moment. “I’m not sure Lara, it’s a bunch of roman numerals: 23 6 2037… What the hell does that mean?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you see any areas that could be fleshed out a bit. There is so much to this story, and it's hard to get it all down in enough detail without running away with the plot!!!


End file.
